


in vain do you seek many remedies (there is no healing for you)

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Everything Sucks, Bathing/Washing, Bleak, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Heavy Angst, Hell is Terrible (Good Omens), Historical Setting- Roman Empire, Hurt With Minimal Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In the aftermath of another round of meetings with their respective Head Offices, Crowley and Aziraphale do their best to help one another.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme Anonymous





	in vain do you seek many remedies (there is no healing for you)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt of the Good Omens Kink Meme. The prompt is as follows: "Both Aziraphale and Crowley are sexually used an abused by their respective head offices. The only way they can be intimate is to help each other clean up afterwards.
> 
> Non-sexual intimacy, bathing/washing and naked cuddling encouraged. No preference on efforts. He/him pronouns for both."
> 
> This is very bleak. It was cathartic for me to write, but this is an immeasurably hopeless piece and if you're in a funky mental place right now you might not want to read it. In addition to prompt triggers for noncon and injuries, there's also some talk of immortals committing not-quite-suicide, and some doubts expressed about humans having an afterlife.

Aziraphale was not late. He couldn't be late, because they very pointedly didn't set a time table for this. And they didn't set a time table for this specifically so that one of them wouldn't be left pacing a groove into the floor (Crowley) or nearly rending his garments with worry (Aziraphale), but here he was anyway.  
  
The sound of his footfalls echoed loudly around the villa. It was large, and as of right now completely empty: servants given the week off, slaves long since either freed or fled, depending on whether or not they actually wanted to live in the Roman Empire. He'd told them it was some kind of Celtic religious thing where you fended for yourself for a nundinal cycle to please Lugos. Scandal of the neighborhood, that was him, with all his barbarian rites and rituals. Thankfully this was a rustica and the closest neighbor was six miles out and downhill besides, so no one was going to come around to check. Thankfully, no one in the province of Moesia knew shit about the Britons either.  
  
Aziraphale might not be late, but he wasn't on time either. Crowley should have expected that. Aziraphale had as good as told him that, hadn't he?  
  
"It's not just going to be a regular debriefing," he'd said when last they'd met, looking calm in a very fragile way. "They're having a bit of a synedrion. Lots of meetings with a great many people in attendance. I'm expected to make several presentations, and, well, there's likely to be a bit of- of _elbow rubbing_ afterwards. And, um. Rubbing of others things, I expect."  
  
Crowley had just had the regular Hellish meetings to deal with this quarter. Actually, it had gone slightly better than average. Asmodeus had laid claim to him early on: no one wanted Asmodeus' extremely sloppy seconds, and Asmodeus always preferred to make it _physically_ good, which beat being battered about first, or during. Hastur and Ligur had cornered him on the way out, but they'd just wanted him on his knees. Nothing too strenuous.  
  
Aziraphale wasn't late. It could just be that Crowley was early. It wasn't, but it could be.  
  
He waited, food kept at the perfect temperature and freshness on the banquet table behind him. He considered drinking- he didn't want to be drunk but he needed something to do, so he made himself some very watered down calda, and drank it warm despite the fact that it was nearly midsummer.  
  
His vigil lasted all night and well into the following afternoon, when he felt Aziraphale's presence approach the outermost wards around his villa. He was up and opening the courtyard door in a trice.  
  
"Aziraphale!" he called out.  
  
"Crowley!" Aziraphale looked fine, physically. He looked almost the same as he had when they'd parted in Viminacium: same proper Roman clothing, same pale corporation, same extremely unhappy smile. "Oh, I must be terribly late, I'm so sorry to keep you..."  
  
"Don't worry about it, angel," Crowley said, holding out his hand. Aziraphale didn't take it, which was more than a little alarming. "Come on then, I've got a private bath."  
  
"Oh, thank you," Aziraphale said, dropping that awful smile. As he passed, Crowley could sense the multitude of miracles that seemed to be holding him together. "Thank you."  
  
The balneum attached to his villa was just as he described it: a bath, but private. It was large enough to be opened to the public, and the previous owner had done so. The previous owner had also been a slaver by trade, so fuck what he did. Crowley's balneum was closed to the public. He bathed alone, without anyone to wait upon him, and he tended to stick to the frigidarium.  
  
He was a barbarian, and couldn't be expected to behave in a civilized fashion. And he was wealthy, so no one every really pressed the matter. It was a very useful fact of life in these parts.  
  
No one needed to know the details. No one needed to know about the sulfur pools, about how it was a fucking game to toss in lesser demons like himself. How you would scrabble and be scrabbled over by your fellows as you tried to escape. How if you were too weak to find a hiding place once you'd clawed your way out someone would come along and you could only hope that they wouldn't toss you right back in when they were done. How the pools weren't as deep as they used to be, because they were filled in with those who had given up, choosing to let the crush of bodies and the burning acid eat at them for all eternity then to have to expend the effort on living.  
  
No one needed to know but Aziraphale, that was.  
  
"You can start with the frigidarium, if you like," Crowley told him. There would be swelling and chaffing somewhere under all those miracles he'd performed on himself, and the cold water would be soothing. "I won't tell if you do it in the wrong order."  
  
"I'll befoul the water," Aziraphale said gloomily. "I know you like-"  
  
"There's a grate, I'll just cycle some new water in, it's fine," Crowley assured him. He pulled off his clothes and hung them up. Aziraphale clumsily tugged his off and left them on the floor. That was another alarm right there.  
  
Crowley stepped into the water, which was suddenly as cold as fresh snow melt, and held out his hand. Aziraphale still didn't take it, and as he stepped into the water Crowley caught the sight of something metal between his legs.  
  
"It'll look bad," Aziraphale said, taking in the expression on Crowley's face. "But, remember, it's not-"  
  
"Not anything discorporating, I know," Crowley said. Aziraphale was allowed to heal any injuries which might discorporate him, and he'd stretched that allowance to cover injuries which might make it impossible for him to remove himself from discorporating situations. But the rest, no matter how painful, was supposed to remain.  
  
Or, more precisely, it wasn't supposed to be healed by Aziraphale.  
  
Aziraphale settled down on the stair, nodded grimly, and let the miracles he'd been using to make himself presentable go.  
  
It was bad. Worse, even, than Crowley had been imagining- he'd been imagining bruises, bitemarks, and while there were plenty of those there were also horrific burns all over him. There was one on his face that looked like a handprint. Worse still were Aziraphale's hands: they'd been mangled almost to the point of being unrecognizable.   
  
"Where do you want me to start?" Crowley asked.  
  
"Could you-" Aziraphale spread his legs and tilted his hips up. Crowley caught sight of metal again. "Please."  
  
"What is that?" Crowley asked, drawing closer.  
  
Aziraphale made a pained noise. "Just get it out. Get it out, get it out, getitout-"  
  
"Alright, alright, I've got you, angel, I've got you," Crowley said. Normally this was the angel's job: pulling out the barbs and objects and- on two separately horrible occasions- detached penises that were left in him when he was finally allowed to leave Hell again. Crowley wasn't sure he'd ever been on this end of things, and he was very sure that he didn't like it one bit.  
  
Crowley found the base of the object and pulled, as smoothly and gently as he could. The water began to cloud up immediately, going all silvery-white.  
  
"Thank you," Aziraphale gasped. "Thank you."  
  
Crowley held the thing up so he could get a good look at it. At first glance it looked like a fascinus, complete with little wings at the base. "Jesus fucking Christ," Crowley swore.  
  
"From what you've told me about him, I don't think he'd approve," Aziraphale said.  
  
"Then he'd better come back and do something about it," Crowley groused. "It's been what, a hundred years, give or take? And still no sign?"  
  
"Not on my end, I'm afraid," Aziraphale said. "I- I still doubt it would come up, but has there been-"  
  
"Nope. Nothing on my end, unless you count Satan griping about the fact that he wants a super-powered son," Crowley said.  
  
"Well, he might turn up yet," Aziraphale said tiredly.  
  
No human ever had yet, not in Heaven _or_ Hell- not as far as either of them could tell at least. Aziraphale believe they weren't in the right department, or not of high enough rank to be privy to where the human souls resided. Crowley did not. He decided against bringing that up. He studied the object more closely instead. The shaft wasn't smooth, or even carved in the shape of a penis- instead it seemed to be comprised of several interlocking wings. "What is this?" he asked.  
  
Aziraphale's reply was not comprehensible to humans, but it might interest you to know that in a dozen-odd centuries or so humans would invent something similar and call it a pear of anguish.  
  
"Huh," Crowley said. The wings on the base weren't stationary, and he folded one of them back in with a click that made Aziraphale flinch. "Right, enough of that," he declared, setting the thing aside. "Let's get the rest seen to, shall we?"  
  
He healed the burn on Aziraphale's face first, and then began to work his way down.  
  
"I- I have terrible posture," Aziraphale said after a moment. "According to Gabriel. And Sandalphon thinks I'm too tight- too uptight. Not- not compliant enough. Too much resistance in me. This was their solution. I'm supposed to- I'll need to put it back in again, before I leave."  
  
"I'm sorry," Crowley said. "I'm so sorry."  
  
There was silence, for a while.  
  
"You're alright?" he asked. "They didn't-"  
  
"Nothing too rough," Crowley assured him. "You definitely got hit harder this time than I did. I can give you the details later, if you like."  
  
Aziraphale nodded. "I saw Ridwan, while I was Up There. He was- blank. Shut himself off." Angels could do that, apparently. Sign over their free will and let themselves be guided by the Light. God's Light, officially. Crowley had his doubts about that and, tellingly, Aziraphale didn't disagree. "Camael had him. He always- Camael terrified him. He _used_ to terrify him. I used to send him a warning whenever I caught sight of him, so he could get out of the way. Not be seen, chosen." Just as lesser demons were claimed by their superiors, lesser angels could be chosen be theirs. It was, as far as either of them could tell, a slightly prettier name for the same ugly thing.  
  
Aziraphale was shivering. "I think- I think I'm the only one, now. The only one left from Eden who hasn't shut themselves off, or- or worse." He meant Jophiel. Jophiel had suffered with the rest of them, at first. And then she'd managed to rise in ranks, and now she was one of Aziraphale's worse tormentors. Crowley wouldn't be surprised to learn that the bit of metal still glittering in the sun streaming down upon them had been her invention.  
  
Crowley was finished healing him, now, and the whole frigidarium had gone cloudy with the seed that had been plugged up inside Aziraphale. "Caldarium?" he offered.  
  
"Yes," Aziraphale said, and Crowley turned the hypocaust on with a thought. "Yes, I do believe a long, hot soak might do me good, thank you dear boy."  
  
"It's no trouble," Crowley said. He hauled himself out of the water, and this time when he offered his hand Aziraphale took it. "I'll go with you."  
  
"You don't have to," Aziraphale said.  
  
"I want to," Crowley told him. "So long as you have no objections to sharing the water with a serpent..."  
  
Aziraphale smiled, the first genuine smile Crowley had seen from him since he'd arrives. "Has anyone ever told you that you give magnificent hugs as a serpent?"  
  
"Yessss," Crowley replied, letting his tongue flick out playfully. "You."  
  
Aziraphale went into the water first as Crowley shifted form, and then he slithered, draping himself over Aziraphale's form in loose coils and tucking his head against the angel's shoulder. He didn't like turning into a snake, and he didn't like hot water, but the two of them in combination were mostly neutral. He's never been able to figure that one out, but he's always been grateful for it, because it meant he could do this.  
  
"Thank you," Aziraphale said, stroking his fingers up and down Crowley's head. "Thank you so much, Crowley."  
  
"You haven't even sssseen the banquet yet," he replied.  
  
"Oh! There's a banquet?" Aziraphale asked.  
  
"It'll keep," Crowley promised him. "There'ssss no hurry."  
  
And it would keep- the wine and the oysters and honey cakes and about a thousand different sauces and a dozen different cheeses to try. When Aziraphale was ready- when they were ready- Crowley would turn back into a human, and they'd dress and eat and drink too much and probably end up snuggled together on one of the triclinia. Maybe they wouldn't move for a time, and spend the night there instead of in bed.  
  
And then, when the sun came up, maybe they would sit down and compare whatever notes they had- both of their sides wanted Roman expansion, go figure- and then maybe they would take another day for themselves. Or maybe they would part, with plans to met up again. It was always harder, parting, the more time they had together.  
  
Aziraphale would put that metal torture device back into himself, and Crowley would clean all the angelic come out of his bathhouse, and they might have a year or two to themselves, and then it would start all over again.  
  
That was life. So long as they had each other, it beat the alternatives.


End file.
